


Summer

by CCNSurvivor



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: Bed-sharing, F/F, Fluff, Gardening, Summer, cottage, happiness, sun - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 16:12:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14548476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CCNSurvivor/pseuds/CCNSurvivor
Summary: Small, tiny oneshot about Hicsqueak sharing a cottage in summer. Pure and undiluted fluff. Inspired by Amanda's BGT dress and the lovely weather.





	Summer

The earth is soft against her knees, made lenient by moisture that lingers from a recent fall of rain. She lets herself sink deeper into it with little regard to the state of her black skirt, nimble fingers busy plucking out weeds and tending to tentatively blossoming flowers. 

The sun is shining on her back, creating minuscule beads of perspiration at the base of her neck while she works, its sharp sting gently soothed by a shy breeze that drifts across her skin every so often. 

It’s funny, she thinks distractedly, how the water still saturates the earth and nourishes the roots of her beloved plants when the storm, the rain and the howling wind are but a distant memory now. When there isn’t even a single cloud to be seen in the sky. 

Behind her, in the little cottage streaked with ivy and roses, she can hear Pippa pottering around. The sound of her presence an immeasurable comfort. 

At the end of term when the storm still held Cackle’s enveloped, she’d found her thoughts knotted around the how, ifs and whens of this arrangement. Unthinkable now that everything has fallen into place quite seamlessly. Too seamlessly? Hecate shakes her head, inhales the warm summer air around her and carefully navigates her thoughts back to her plants. 

Lavender, thyme and rosemary. Each tucked away into jars. Useful potion ingredients though recently abused for Pippa’s experiments. Leave it to her to take an interested in non-magical cooking. A small smile lights up her otherwise austere features, her sharp, bony cheeks no longer pale but sun-kissed. 

There are two small bedrooms right under the roof of the cottage. Two beds, and nightstands and wardrobes too. A waste to think that only of them has been made use of in the past fourteen days of their arrangement. Thirteen nights of two bodies wrapped around each other. Thirteen nights of tasting sunshine on Pippa’s skin, of comfortable, invigorating, thorough sleep. Thirteen mornings with blonde hair streaked across her face, even breathing against her neck, of shared breakfasts and easy conversation. 

It’s a silly kind of happiness that makes her glow from within. And summer has only just begun. 

“Mind you don’t get burned, Hiccup!” Pippa calls as she exits the cottage, though her advice nearly disappears under the clatter of the tray that is floating alongside her. 

And Hecate rolls her eyes towards the heavens as though she is an adolescent still, as though they’re back where they were 30 years ago, as though nothing has changed between them. But then ruefully reaches back to cup the base of her neck with her palm, feels the heat that has collected there already and with a sigh pushes herself up. 

“I’m quite alright,” she starts to say though her tongue grows clumsy when she spots Pippa before her, hair wild and loose, sporting a vintage floral print dress that would have made any witch from the fifties green with envy. 

And there’s the familiar pinprick of tears as she stands there watching – still tall and dark and gangly, all rigidness and muddy knees- seeing, and slowly, slowly somewhat accepting, that Pippa’s brown eyes are shining back at her with the same warmth and deep affection that resides in her heart. 

“I swear, if you don’t start being a little more careful, I’m going to put you into one of my tops and make you wear that straw-hat you had so much to say about the other day,” Pippa scolds her, although she’s reaching out for her at the same time. “Black is neither stylish nor useful in weather like this.” 

Their fingers effortlessly slip into each other, drawing their bodies closer still. Pippa cool and bright from the shade of the cottage, Hecate warm and glowing from her work out in the sun. A reversal, no, a gradual melting of roles. For there is no limit to their capacity, now that they are at last together. 

“Must I remind you that it is due to  _my_  efforts that your precious bluebells have not yet perished?” Hecate bristles with a playful quirk of the lips. 

And it’s beautiful how it makes Pippa laugh, how it softens her eyes even further. 

“No, you really mustn’t, Hiccup. Or I’d be forced to remind  _you_  that my precious bluebells are of no use to me when  _my_  precious witch has perished in the meantime.” 

Her skin flushes in a way that has nothing to do with the sun and in her own shy and slightly awkward way, she lifts the other’s hand to her lips to bestow a kiss upon her knuckles. 

“Now let us see what you have created this time,” she adds to save her poor heart from fluttering in an even more undignified manner, and leads them both to the table and chairs that stand drawn up underneath a white parasol. 

And as they both sample Pippa’s latest batch of donuts and iced tea, they talk of the past, the present and future or sit in companionable silence, happy for a summer such as this.


End file.
